


all i have to do

by sclerant (rufusrant)



Series: the hot mess, in between [2]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: (in love), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Borderline crack, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Sickfic, fuckin idiots, john and george get sneaky, paul shits a lot, ringo drinks despite having a fever, well not THAT much of a sickfic really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufusrant/pseuds/sclerant
Summary: While Ringo lies poorly in the hospital on Christmas, George attempts to sneak him a bottle of sherry.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Series: the hot mess, in between [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578769
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	all i have to do

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooooo. college who? idk her, i'm here now and i want content, so here we are.
> 
> i highly recommend you read [silent night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069240/chapters/40137050) before this for better context. and yES 25 DEC WAS DAYS AGO but i'm still in the holiday mood. there are 12 days of xmas anyway.

Christmas 

Ringo opens YouTube when George leaves to use the loo and braces himself when he finds the Cavern’s channel.

> _Beatle Drummer Sings Original Love Song!_

Ringo slams the phone off. He pulls the blanket over his face and sCREAMS. fUCKfuckfuckfuck _fuck_ this had to be some sort of dream. But a _great_ dream at that. Within five days he’d been on a date, nearly fucked everything up, _KISSED GEORGE_ and written a song. Which _two thousand people_ had seen. The Cavern didn’t have that many subscribers. BUT STILL—

“Sir,” One of the nurses pokes her head in. “Are you alright?”

“YES.”

“Um. Okay,” the nurse says. “Your brother asked me to bring this to you.”

Ringo throws the blanket off. “My what?”

“Your brother,” the nurse lets herself in. She’s a different one from the last: younger, red-haired and from the looks of it, very very tired. She sets a coffee cup on the push tray next to him and turns to leave.

“Sorry luv, but uh,” says Ringo. “Which brother?—”

The nurse shuts the door. Ringo rolls his eyes. He inches off the bed and grabs the cup. 

On the sleeve is a Sharpie-drawn star. 

~

_Tuesday, 00.42_

**Joj:** where are you

**Me:** toilets

maccas givin birth

**Joj:** hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah

PLEASE never cook again

**Me:** ;-;-;-;-;-;-;

anyway

did the coffee arrive

**Joj:** what coffee

**Me:** the one i just sent to ritchies room?

**Joj:** uh idk

im not there rn

**Lemon:** wtf 

you just left him there?????

ALL ALONE

on CHRISTMAS

**Joj** : IM COMING BACK OK

**Me:** where are YOU??????

**Joj:** the flat

sherry’s in first cabinet right

**Me:** OH.

yeah the first one

while youre at it can u bring me stash

pls

“JOHN,” Paul screeches from the toilet. “JOHN, ‘M OUTTA LOOROLL!”

_“What?!?!”_

“I’M OUT OF LOO ROLL, YOU _BASTARD!”_

“FINE,” John kicks the next stall open and unhooks the roll from the holder. “Catch!”

 _“WHAT????????????_ — _”_

John tosses the entire loo roll over Paul’s cubicle door. He lets out another screech. John’s phone buzzes again. 

_Tuesday, 00.45_

**Joj:** k

and while YOU'RE at it take care of macca

“Shit,” says John. 

“Oh sweet _Jesus,”_ Paul gasps. “ ‘s comin’ out, ‘s _comin’—_ ”

~

When George pulls into the car park the snow’s falling softer. He grabs the cooler from the passenger seat and runs to the entrance with it tucked under his arm. He smiles as the doors slide open. Christmas in London was definitely _somethin’,_ minus all the food poisoning—

“Excuse me.” A tall, redheaded nurse steps in his way. “Visiting hours are over.”

George blinks. “Oh?”

“Sorry.”

“I was here jus’ now, ye know.”

“Visiting hours are _still_ over, sir.”

“I was ‘ere like twenty minutes ago—”

“It’s a rest period for the patients now.”

“C’mon, love,” George smiles. He then tries sidestepping her, but her foot moves in front of his as quick as crickets. She looks at him unamusedly. 

“Look, uh, _Debra,”_ he reads off of her badge, “that’s my family in there.”

Maybe it works. She sighs, and turns to the empty reception desk next to him. “You’re still going to have to sign in.”

“What if I _already_ signed in?”

“If you leave without signing out, you'll have to do it again,” She takes a seat and pounds into the keyboard. “Who’re you visiting?”

“Ring— Richard Starkey.”

“And how are you related?” 

_Shit._ “He’s my, uh, cousin.”

Nurse Debra glances at him almost suspiciously. But she types into the comp, and pushes him a clipboard. Right above the empty columns are three scrawled signatures, two hours fresh. George's sandwiched between Lennon-McCartney.

He taps it with the pen from the holder. “That’s me.” 

“Right,” she says. “Sign again below.”

“Uh, time?”

“Twelve fifty-five.”

“Riiiiiiight.”

“Now please declare what you have.”

George looks up. “ ‘m sorry?”

“All outside food needs to be checked, sir,” she points at the cooler between his knees. “It’s protocol.”

“Don’t worry, there’s no food.”

“What’s in it then?”

“Flowers.”

"Really," She snorts. “Not very good with gifts, are you?”

“Wh— excuse me?”

“It says here that Mister Starkey is allergic to pollen.”

_SHIT._

“Ye know, pollenless flowers are a thing—”

“Let’s see them then.”

Oh, fuck it. George drops the cooler on the countertop and opens the lid. The Harvey Bristol Cream sticks out from the sea of cold packs like an icicle. Her face breaks into a crooked cartoon half-grin.

“I’m afraid alcohol’s not permitted on the wards."

“Not even on Christmas?”

She stares at him incredulously.

~

_Friday, 01.17_

**Dickstarr:** thanks for the coffee 

<3

**Me:** np 

**Dickstarr:** and is geo ok

**Me:** wot

**Dickstarr:** hes takin a really long time in the loo

i texted him but he aint seen it yet

you still in there right? is he ok

**Me:** oh 

nah hes throwing up abit

**Dickstarr:** WHAT

_Incoming Call: JOJ_

“What,” John says as he kicks the vending machine.

_“ ‘m outside.”_

“Gear.”

_“I need you to get Macca’s flask.”_

A can of Coke falls into the out-port. “Macca’s _what_ now?”

 _“His fuckin’ flask,”_ George says impatiently. _“An’ if he says he doesn’t have it on him he’s probably lyin’, okay? Hello??"_

“Don’t think he’s got it, son." John pops open the can. "He’s been shittin’ himself for like two hours! Pants down an’ all. Think I’d have seen if he ‘ad—”

“Try _ta remember! Please!”_

“Fine, fine.” John takes a sip. “Suppose it _ain’t_ on him.”

 _“It is. He’s probably hidden it, like, in a bag, or_ —”

“Bag?” John says. “ ‘kay. Ya got the sherry then?”

 _“Yeah, but I brought it in the cooler, see, an’ the nurse_ saw _an’ now she won’t let me in—”_

"Jesus," John cackles. “Where’ve yer _brains_ gone to, Geo?”

 _“Sicked them up,”_ George sighs. _“Thanks.”_

“Anytime, luv.”

_“ Hah. ’m the car park.”_

“ ‘kay. Bye.”

 _“Waitwaitwaithow’s Ritchie doin’? Is he_ —”

John hangs up. God, why did he have to do _everything._

~

Ringo bursts into the loo. The door slams into the wall.

“OhmyGOD,” Paul screeches, still inside the cubicle.

“PAUL????????????”

 _“RINGO???????????????????????”_ A gasp. “Ye scared the fucking SHIT outta me!”

“Yer welcome!”

“THAT’S A FIGURE oF SPEECH,” Paul cries. “oH, _GAWD—”_

“You— you okay in there?”

“Oh, I’m gear!” Paul says, obviously not gear. “Have ya seen John???? ‘Cause you can help tell ‘im that when I get outta here I’m gonna kick his _fUCKIN’ ASS, an’ he’s gonna know jus’ how much_ **_SHIT_ ** _he’s caused—_ PUT _in MINE!”_

“God, sorry,” Ringo moves closer. “I came to ask if _you’ve_ seen him—”

“I ain’t seen nuthin’ cept all this **_SHIT!”_ **Paul screams again, and lets out an inhuman noise. 

_“Can_ you even shit?”

_“NO!”_

“ ‘m gonna get you some water, ‘kay?”

“HOW’S THAT GOING TO—”

“You might be dEHYDRATED! YE CAN’T SHIT IF YOU’RE DRY INSIDE!”

Ringo brisk walks to his room and plucks the plastic pitcher off the nightstand. Paul’s still going at it when he bursts back in. Ringo bends and slides the pitcher under the stall door. 

_“DRINK!”_

~

“Ey,” John shakes his Coke can. “Want some?”

George takes it, downs it all, and tosses it back to a mock-shocked John.

“Rude.”

“Ye offered,” George turns back to filling the flask with sherry. “Where’d you even find it?”

“First machine on the left—”

“The _flask.”_

“Ritch’s room,” John slides the van window open and fumbles in his pockets for a cig. “Paul left ‘is _purse_ on the table.”

“Better not let him hear you say that.”

“What? Fucking thing’s embroidered.”

“So’s yer towel.”

“Towels are fuckin’ _unisex,”_ John states. He turns to the window and lights up. “And it was a gift from Mater! Cut ‘er some slack. She doesn’t know any better!”

George screws the cap of the flask on. “Sure.” 

“Heh.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“What?”

_Friday, 00.57_

**Ritchie:** ey you ok?

bad shit huh

me too

_Friday, 01.17_

**Ritchie:** GEO

ARE YOU OKAY?????

GEO

GEOOOOOO

FUCKING ANSWER 

George makes a hiss. John giggles. 

_Friday, 01.42_

**Me:** what yes i’m fine

**Ritchie:** where are you????

john said you were sickin up in the loo!

George gives John a death glare. 

“Gimme a break,” John huffs. “You _could’ve_ been.”

_Friday, 01.43_

**Me:** he WHAT

bitchass

i didn’t don’t worry

**Ritchie:** i went to look and you werent there

YOU WERENT SICK OHTHANK GOD 

wait no where tf you go then??? home???

bc i understand yknow

telling me first would be nice though.

George shuts his phone off. He reaches for the cooler in the backseat and drops it in John's lap. 

“I gotta go. Yer stuff’s in there.”

“Ta,” John blows a wisp out the window. “Lemme jus' finish this—”

George unzips his jeans. 

“The _fuck_ are you doin’??” John chokes.

“Damage control,” George replies, even though he hasn’t the faintest idea what damage control even is. He wedges the flask between his waistband and pants, pushes it down.

“Ooo,” John pretends to swoon. _"Shit,_ mate!"

“Right,” George zips himself up. “Do I look like I’ve got a flask in me pants?”

_“Duh.”_

“Fuck, really?”

“It looks like you’ve got a HUGE phone, actually."

“That’ll do,” George opens the van door. He stands up and immediately shivers. The flask’s _cold._

“Keep yer back straight!” John shuts the door. George breathes in, clears his mind, and catches a glimpse of himself walking in the dark window of a car— he doesn’t look _too_ awkward, which is at least a foot forward. And he's in his good jeans. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and walks on. 

The entrance doors slide open. Nurse Debra’s still parked at the reception, hunched over her phone. She doesn’t look up when George steps in. He’s got snow in his hair and his shoes leave wet prints on the floor tiles. He makes a quick turn for the hallway. 

“Oi,” George jumps out of his skin. Her eyes don’t even leave her screen as she holds out the clipboard. “All visitors must sign in, _sir._ ”

He takes it, walks briskly to the pen holder, and signs. It’s the very last column on the sheet. He checks his phone for the time and opens his messages.

_Friday, 01.45_

**Me:** yes but no. where are YOU?

“It’s one forty-five by the way,” Nurse Debra drones. 

“Ta.”

“Hmph. Comin’ here so late,” she almost smiles. “You must really love your cousin.” 

George blinks confusedly before it hits him, and he feels his face flush warm. “Yeah.”

THEN she stands too, and slips her phone into her pocket. 

“Um.”

“You’ll need my pass to open the door at the end. And to get out, too, so if you’ve anything to declare first—”

“Nope!”

She leads him down the hall. George’s phone buzzes.

_Friday, 01.45_

**Ritchie:** ...the loo

with paul

wdym yes but no

**Me:** can you head back to bed please

like now bc nurse’s walkin me to your room

**Ritchie:** lmao is it the redhead

**Me:** JUST GO

She taps a card on the reader, and George stands even taller when the doors swing open.

“Do you know which ward it is?”

“Yeah. I was there.”

She smiles at him. It lasts for a second before she turns to leave. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says, having a brief mental flash that she could very well be Jewish. But she chuckles. 

“Merry Christmas to you too. And your cousins.”

“Cousins?...”

“I assume Mister Starkey’s brother’s staying too,” she says. “Y’know, _the Harry Potter bloke.”_

George bites his lip. The doors close, lock, and only then does he full-on snort into his hand. But only for a moment. He keeps his back up and walks steadily to Ringo's door, heart racing faster than he'd like to admit. He checks his phone. A little over an hour ago he'd been right in there, in bed, spilling his heart like water. A little over two-three-four hours ago he'd been clapping Eric on the back, drinking Sprite and winking at a drummer from his seat in the booth. And—

And....

He finds his hand hovering over the doorknob.

_I love you._

_Well. Hot damn._

George lets out a shuddery breath. 

_....what?_

"Hey.”

George glances up. At the end of the hall, white-clad in a clinic gown against rows of dark doors, stands Ringo in the flesh. George swears the snow in his hair starts to melt.

“Um, hey,” Ringo says, quieter. “ ‘s late….”

George realises he’s just been staring. He drops his gaze to the floor. “Uh-huh.”

“Where’d you go, eh?” 

Something vital shakes in George’s core— tonight it's _Ringo_ who needs looking after, the one who’s gone down in fever heat, and yet now he walks towards George like an angel from the snowy heavens. His arms open, and worry lines hang below his ice-eyes like fairy lights on a banner. “You alright?”

“ ’m... I'm fine.” George opens his arms, then, and lets Ringo walk in. “I’m sorry, I just went... I went to grab you somethin’. I didn’t— I didn't mean..."

The world around them seems to dim. Ringo throws his arms around George and pulls them tight. 

“Tellin’ me would’ve been nice, ya know? I worried.”

“Wanted to surprise you.”

“I’ve been surprised _enough,”_ Ringo laughs, small and tired, but runs his hand into George’s hair and stays. “But ‘s the thought that counts, no?”

“Yeah,” George says. “The thought...”

Ringo’s nose presses into the side of his neck. Chills, streaks of them, flurry down his back. George pulls away then, tilts Ringo’s face up by his jaw and captures his lips in a kiss that feels like blond warmth. A lighted candle, the feel of holding a wreath, the burn of a drum top that had a love ballad beaten into it. And Ringo, always seeking rhythms, breathes deep into him, moving at one-two-one-two, gentle hands holding his head. He can’t help but smile. 

Ringo gasps when they part, blinking fast like he’s freshly awoken. His lips are swollen pink and when they turn up into a grin George feels his own heart settle back into place. 

“Christ,” Ringo chuckles as he looks down George’s leg. “That yer phone or are you jus’ happy to see me?”

“ ‘s sherry.”

 _“No_ way.”

“Yes way,” George steps back to get the flask out, but it’s moved down. He lets out a snort. 

~

Ringo yanks the cot sides of his bed every which way until they collapse so they can both sit up freely. George fumbles with the cap of the flask. 

“Might be a lil warm,” he warns. 

“I like warm,” Ringo says. He reaches for a pill packet on the tray. “Gotta take this real quick.”

“Ya need water then?”

“Fuck no.” He frees a pill from the foil. “I wanna get drunk.”

“Oh, that’s _hot.”_

“Give ‘er here!” Ringo drops the pill in his mouth and swallows with a long swig. A _very_ long swig. “Oh, happy _birthday,_ Jesus!”

“What’s it like?”

“Me mouth tastes like……. like teeth.”

“What?”

“Me mouth tastes like teeth.” Ringo taps on his incisor. “ ‘s kinda sour.”

“Oh,” says George. “I heard ‘me mouth tastes like _tits’_.”

“......................those have a taste?”

“If ye try hard enough.”

“Try _what_ hard enough? _Lickin’_ it? _Huh?”_

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe,” says George. “Sometimes you gotta jus’— bite it— _fuck—”_

George and Ringo burst out laughing. George takes the flask and drinks, and mERRY _CHRISTMAS,_ LAD! Santa rubs his jolly tum. Elves unwrap guitars from boxes and strum a rock version of _Silent Night_ . Reindeer shoot across the sky and outshine _all_ the stars. _All_ of them. 

All but one. 

Ringo taps the bottom of the flask. “This thing’s fuckin’ _huge.”_

“Mmmm.”

“ ‘s even bigger than— than Macca,” he laughs. “I mean, merry x-mas, Macca, but—”

“But what,” says Paul.

Ringo startles. But then he laughs louder.

“Oh _hi_ Macca,” George says smoothly. “Ye look nice.”

“Fuck off,” Paul groans. He lets himself in and sets a water pitcher on the tray. He pulls up a spare chair near the empty neighbour bed and slumps into it like a sunken stone. 

“Ya made it!” Ringo says.

“I lived bitch,” Paul pulls out his phone. “Didn’t even get sick.”

George rolls his eyes. He lifts the flask to take another swig, but discovers its vanished from his hand. Ringo’s drinking from it, head back, eyes shut like he’s having the best dream in the world. 

“Anyway, where’s John?” asks Paul.

"The van,” George replies. 

“We should call ‘im up,” says Ringo. “He’s missin’ the party!”

“Everythin’s a party to you, Ringo. Geo, you call ‘im.”

“Call yer _own_ husband!”

“My husband jus’ gave me _food poisoning!”_ says Paul. “On _Christmas!”_

Something slams into the window. Paul falls out of his chair. A freshly-snowed John presses his face AND the cooler against the glass with a smirk. He points to the bottom of the frame.

Ringo waves at him. Paul, stink-eye aplenty, gets up anyway and unlatches it. John climbs through and plops the cooler on the tray. 

“Sup.”

George facepalms. Why didn’t _he_ think of just hopping the window????—

“Hullo Santa,” Paul says coldly. "Nice of ye to drop by."

“What? The nurse’s horrid. I ain’t crossin’ _that!_ Had to tell ‘er Ritch was me _brother_ before she’d do anythin’ for me. What’d you tell her?”

“I never left.”

“Oh,” John scratches his neck quick. “Right.” He turns to George. “What ‘bout you?”

“.......cousins.”

Ringo, flask still in hand, snickers like a child. 

~

Of course, the McLennons never stay mad at each other for long. John circles Paul like a cat until he lets him in his lap so they can share the chocolate stash in the cooler. A little after three in the morning do they fall asleep, Paul still sat in the chair and John laid up on the neighbouring bed. His legs, _of course,_ still stretch over Paul’s thighs. George and Ringo exchange a look.

Ringo rolls his eyes. “They are so—”

“Married.”

_“That’s what I was gonna say!”_

“Lord, _please_ don’t quote Frozen.”

“I wasn’t! I jus’ thought it, well, fit…. _”_

“It does.”

Ringo sighs out in ease. He drops his head back on his pillow and George follows, laying down on his side. They barely fit— his knees poke Ringo in the belly and his cheekbone whacks him near the eye. So they nestle closer.

“Hey,” Ringo says. “Y’know… you know the— the _song?_ Your song? _”_

“Yeah.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t watch it,” Ringo shuts his eyes with a groan. “The vid’s got a fuckin’ _stupid_ name.”

There’s a bit of quiet. “...... it _is_ a stupid name,” says George, thankfully, his arm curling around Ringo’s waist. “So what’s it really called, then?”

“Huh?”

“The song.”

“I… I don’t know,” Ringo says defeatedly. “I didn’t give it one.”

“....are ye going to?”

“........................maybe?”

Even longer quiet, and George doesn’t answer. Ringo opens his eyes then, and George’s asleep, peaceful as the falling snow. Ringo shuts his eyes, leans against George, and releases another breath of relief. 

And joy.


End file.
